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knife. What can I say? I’ve run out of words. I don’t know how to steer this conversation, don’t know what to say to a deranged guy who carries a knife and presses himself against virtual strangers. What do I do?
    I know there’s a cell tower on top of this ridge. I’ve seen it dozens of times. If I can get to my phone inside my saddlebag, I can call for help. I kick myself for taking it out of my chest pocket this morning—but why wouldn’t I have? I always do when I ride. I don’t want it to shake itself out when I’m galloping through the forest.
    Phoning out is a good plan, but I can’t call anyone without first getting to my horse. I look over at Whiskey. She’s only a few feet away, but I need a good reason if I’m going to be walking that way instead of toward Darren.
    â€œOkay.” I shrug, making sure I sound like I have a choice in the matter.
    â€œWe can stay for a while. But I gotta re-tie the horses or else they’ll tangle in their ropes.”
    I gesture with my thumb to where Whiskey’s rope has slid to the bottom of the tree trunk. She grazes calmly, oblivious to my near-death situation.
    I squint up at the sky, shading my eyes against the sun. “And I need my sunscreen. It’s hotter than a Texas desert out here.” That was a cheesy thing to say, I think. But then, I’m not really thinking straight, am I? It’s hard to cough up light banter once you’ve found out your companion is a raving sociopath.
    Darren’s obviously not worried that I’m going to bolt, because he nods and waves me toward the horses. But he watches me all the same. I feel his eyes on me as I move— Slow! Keep it casual, Jill!— toward Whiskey. Just a few steps.
    There.
    When I reach the horse, an outrageous idea hits me. Her rope, having slipped down the tree trunk, is on the ground now. I could easily untie her without him noticing.
    Moving calmly, I step directly on the lead rope. I twist my foot slightly as I pass Whiskey’s lowered head. I keep moving, toward her hindquarters, where the saddlebag sits. I catch the other section of rope with my other foot and tug on it. The quick-release knot slides apart on the grass. I blink, stunned that it worked so easily. What if I’d tied her with a bowline this morning instead of a quick-release knot? What then?
    But I didn’t tie a bowline. Today, for some reason, I didn’t tie a bowline. I send the universe a silent message of thanks.
    Don’t look at the rope on the ground . I yank my eyes up. Reach for the saddlebag. My hands shake as I unbuckle the flap, and I need to stop what I’m doing for a second. I take a deep breath. No fear here.
    No. Fear. Here.
    I slide my hand into the saddlebag and grab the phone. Yes . I flip it open.
    And this is right about where the plan fails. Now that I’ve got the phone in my hand, I can’t see to dial any numbers unless I take it out of the saddlebag.
    Darren saves me the trouble of making a decision about this problem. He must have sensed I was up to something. With the stealth of a cougar he’s crept up behind me. His hand snakes out and grabs mine. He pulls my hand—and the phone—out of the saddlebag. He turns me around to face him. I swallow.
    â€œOops,” I say brightly. “That’s not my sunscreen, now, is it?”
    Darren’s eyes glitter as he looks into my face. Cold.
    â€œYou weren’t thinking of calling for help, now, were you, Jilly Bean?” He speaks softly. “Something that stupid could get you killed, you know.”
    His voice is calm, but his actions are violent as he wrests the phone out of my hand. He takes a couple of steps backward. His eyes bore into mine. Then he raises his hand above his head and slams the phone down hard, against a rock.
    SMASH!
    Again. SMASH!
    Again. SMASH!
    The phone splinters into a thousand fragments that catch and reflect the